


Pull my hair

by TooManyChoices



Series: Working out the kinks [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Hair Kink, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Sherlock's Hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 17:25:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1656476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a case, John discovers that Sherlock rather enjoys having his hair pulled. Shameless smut and PWP.<br/>Not even sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pull my hair

The two sopping wet residents of 221B flung the front door open and tumbled as much as strode into the room with water dripping from noses, hair, and coats. The room transitioned from silent and empty to crowded and boisterous in the blink of two sets of sparkling and adrenaline filled eyes. Boyish laughter echoed through the flat, Sherlock's a chuckled baritone, the other an almost hysterical giggle.

 "I will never understand..." John gasped for breath between snorts of laughter, "why everybody runs."

 "Hard to get away without running, John. I suspect that's the underlying motivation." Sherlock was laboriously unwrapping his sodden scarf from around his neck and wringing it on the floorboards.

 "Hey! Bathroom for wet clothes. I'm not mopping...and you don't."

 Sherlock raised a begrudging eyebrow as if conceding the point and strode down the hall, shrugging off his long Belstaff coat as he went, a trail of water in his wake.

 John peeled off his jumper, wrinkling his nose at the vague 'wet dog' smell that had already begun to waft from it as it warmed in the flat. Toeing off his shoes, John padded after the detective toward the bathroom.

 Rain was an occupational hazard in London and the row of hangers on the rail over the bath was testament to the necessity of a makeshift drying rack. The coat and jacket already hung and the door joining the room to Sherlock's bedroom stood ajar meaning Sherlock was already in the process of changing out of his trousers and shirt. The deep voice carried between rooms, "John...catch" as one of Sherlock's robes was tossed through the open door.

 "Thanks..." In a long practiced routine, John shimmied out of his clothes and wrapped himself in the borrowed robe, rolling up the overlong sleeves before hanging up shirt and jeans and laying his soggy jumper flat on the tiles to avoid it stretching. _I don't need another jumper that reaches to my knees._ "...Towel..." he shouted as he threw one back through the door.

 "Thanks." Came the reply.

 "We got any leftovers in the fridge? I don't feel like going back out in that."

 "Should be some Thai, maybe some fried rice too." Sherlock's voice was muffled as he strolled back into the bathroom, towel covering his face as he vigorously rubbed at his curls.

 Not for the first time, John marvelled at how well they worked together, out on the street as well as in the flat. It had taken time, long agonising months after losing Mary and the baby, but life had to go on and much the same way Mary had saved John after Sherlock’s fall, life at Baker Street was saving him again.

 While Sherlock's face was covered, John took the opportunity to peruse his flatmate’s lithe frame. Still as long and lean as ever, swathed in the camel bathrobe he'd acquired since his return. The colour didn't suit him nearly as well as the old blue one but that wasn't the sort of thing a platonic flatmate mentioned. _Hell, I shouldn't even be looking!_

 John knew there was something there, bubbling just below the surface. There were too many appraising looks and lingering touches to be coincidence. John may not have Sherlock’s quick-silver brain, but he wasn't an idiot. You didn't get a nick-name like 'three continents Watson' without being able to tell when someone was interested in him, particularly when the attraction was reciprocated. However, also obvious was how hard Sherlock was working to keep this.....thing....they had at arm’s length. He no longer strode around the flat wrapped in a sheet, always knocked before entering John's room, respected privacy in the bathroom. John honestly didn't know whether to appreciate the thoughtfulness or resent it.

 ***

 Left over rice consumed, they settled in the lounge room with John on his chair and Sherlock settled on the floor at his feet, cocooned in the warmth and gentle light of the fireplace.

 Sherlock's still damp hair was in the process of drying to glossy, ill-defined curls and John reached forward, threading his fingers through the damp rings. A gentle sigh drifted up from the man at his feet and the head pressed toward the touch. John smoothed his fingers through, hypnotised by the way curves separated and then returned to cling together. Sherlock arched slightly, wriggling closer. Lifting a single bundle of strands to idly tug at it, John watched it wrap around his index finger before he let it fall to circle back and rest amongst the others. _Fascinating._ He lifted another, smiling at the erratic chaos so at odds with the owner of the uncontrollable curls. He tugged gently, testing the spring, entranced at the movement. There was a caught breath and a hiss. _Interesting._ John repeated, tugging a little harder, this time eliciting a slight whimper.

 "John?...." There was an odd note to Sherlock's voice, pensive and hushed,"...what are you doing?"

 "Playing with your hair."

 "Can you....stop please." The tone hadn't changed.

 John dropped the curl, concerned, "Sorry. Was that hurting? I didn't mean..."

 "No...not hurting." The voice distant, Sherlock didn't elaborate further.

 "Oh.."..... _OH!_ John cleared his throat awkwardly, "I didn't realise....sorry"

 "Don't be sorry, It's fine. Just..." Sherlock paused to clear the gravelly tone that had crept into his voice, "...best you don't. " Sherlock shifted a little on the floor, tilting hips sideways slightly to make his burgeoning erection a little less apparent under the thin robe.

 "Sherlock....?" _May as well get this out in the open_. John's voice was tentative in the still of the room.

 "Mmmm?"

 "I thought...married to your work? I didn't think you...." John placed a gentle hand on the taller man's shoulder and was rewarded with a wry laugh.

"Yes, well. I don't usually, but having my hair pulled is a bit of an exception. I have sensitive follicles. It's always had that effect and The Work doesn't seem all that keen to meet that particular need."

"Oh..." Came the thoughtful reply. "I never knew...I wish...I wish I had."

"I should be happy just to have you back, John." Sherlock added sadly, "Every day I was gone I planned for my return. But, every step away from home....away from you, clawed at me. I realised that I'm stronger with you, better. I never _miss_ anyone...." Long elegant fingers waved as he hissed the word, "....but I missed you John, desperately. But then I came back, and there was Mary, and you were happy. And I wanted that for you John, you deserved it. But now.....", Sherlock waved a frustrated hand in the air, "I feel like I'm in limbo and I don't know what to do with all this...... _emotion_ " Sherlock ran a shaky hand through his hair before settling into silence.

John looked down at his friend… _Best friend; I said that didn't I?_ Noting in his back the strain carried in the wiry shoulders. This situation they found themselves in had all the makings of a disaster of truly epic proportions, but John was trying to balance potential future pain with the longing and denial they were facing on a daily basis.

"Sherlock....."

"No John, don't say _ It's fine _ . The things I want to do to you..." the sorrow and anger in his voice underpinned by a rough shake of his head, "...that I want you to do to me . It's far from _fine."_

 _Shit._ John's hand clutched reflexively, he was instantly, impossibly hard under his borrowed robe, "Jesus Sherlock. All this time, I thought it was just me."

Another brisk shake. The shoulders tensed even more as The reply came quietly, "No....not just you. Not for some time. But.....is it too soon?"

John took a deep thoughtful breath, "I loved Mary, I did… but...It was never like this.....It's never been even remotely close to what this feels like. " John's voice trailed off.

Sherlock turned then, to face John. Swiveling on the floor to look up and meet John's eyes and with a haunted uncertainty asked, "What does it feel like, John? Tell me what it's like for you? I need to know."

 _One chance, that's all I'll get. Make it count Watson._ "It feels like I'm burning, Sherlock. Like I'm on fire 24 hours a day. Like you're too close and too far away at the same time. I'm scared to touch you because I'm scared I'll never let you go. You drive me out of my  mind Sherlock. You're so bloody......I don't even have the words for what you are. Most of the time I can't decide whether I want to wring your neck or fuck you. ” John took a deep breath and pushed on, “ I want to push you up against a wall, and bend you over a table and take you to bed and have you take me apart until I forget my own name. THAT'S what it _feels like_ for me. OK?" John's monologue trailed off and he held Sherlock's eyes, hoping that exposing the passion and frustration he'd been bottling up for months wouldn't irreparably damage their friendship.

" _Christ_......" The hushed reply came, Sherlock's eyes wide with shock and arousal in the dim light, pupil’s huge within the ring of colour.

That was all the confirmation John needed. Months... _years..._ of desire crashed over him like waves. The desperate feeling of being swept under and robbed of breath, clawing for the surface and life. For John, the surface was Sherlock, _always_ _Sherlock_ and with spasming hands he reached for him, falling from the chair in his haste to cup the man's head between his palms. _Touching...finally touching_ ...Their lips fell together, passing the breath of life between them. A moan, quickly swallowed and given back, vibrating and echoing back and forth between them as fervent touches became open palmed caresses. A quick gasp of breath... _surface_ ...before diving back under again, struggling together to find each other in the ocean of desire. _Are you here with me? Is this real? Am I safe?_

John's fingers twined in Sherlock's hair, reaching for something to hold, to keep himself sane. A clench added tension and Sherlock whimpered against his mouth.. _There you are, I'm not here alone.._ and John smiled against the plush lips. Tugging again, there was a gasp and the whimper was repeated.

"John..my God...John..." The voice raw with emotion and barely constrained lust.

"Sherlock...so long."

"Touch me...for God's sake John...touch me." Sherlock dipped his head, nosing John's borrowed robe aside and running his tongue down collar bones and across sensitive nipples. John arched into the touch and grabbed a ragged breath, never losing his grip on the silky curls, each tug bringing another needy whine as Sherlock lapped and nipped.

Pushing his other hand down between them, John reached to grasp at Sherlock's length, first through soft cotton boxer briefs before dipping under the waistband and finally taking him in hand. The smooth skin and hard flesh twitched under his fingers, reacting to the touch and filling further as Sherlock hummed against John's chest and bucked into his hand.

Sherlock's hand trailed down and his long fingers brushed down his stomach before finally wrapping around John's cock, thumb stroking across the slit before sliding firmly down the length. John sighed in appreciation and nuzzled into Sherlock's neck, tonguing the drumbeat pulse in the artery there.

"Jesus Sherlock....that's it...right there...Christ you're gorgeous." John mumbled, giving himself over to the moment pushing himself through Sherlock's grip and letting Sherlock work himself against both John's hand on his cock and the one pulling relentlessly on his curls. "So bloody responsive....."

The world outside Baker Street seemed to fade and compress down to the two men clutched together on the rug. John realised that if he applied tension to the curls, enough to drag Sherlock's mouth from his, the lean detective would strain to pull back toward him, and the resulting tug set up an endless loop of pleasure that was reducing the taller man to a series of uncontrolled moans and whimpers under John's hands.

"John......close. I...can't...I can't."

"Do it...come for me, let me see you."

Sherlock whimpered and sucked hard on John's throat. John hissed and clutched a rough handful of hair, Sherlock let out a long keening moan and arched against John, hips pushing, then stilling before shuddering and John felt warm wetness spread between them.

Friction suddenly diminished and Sherlock's hand on John's cock suddenly moved smoothly and slickly, and the change in sensation pushing John over the edge without warning. He groaned against Sherlock's neck as shudders wracked them both.

The noise of a log settling amongst the embers in the fireplace broke the quiet huffs as the men caught their breath. Touching with gentle hands and questing fingers, silently reassuring each other as well as themselves that this was real, that it had happened.

"Should have done this years ago." John gently ventured.

"Didn't know..." Sherlock muttered.

"Couldn't have been hard to deduce...everyone else seemed to see it."

"I saw it..." Sherlock leaned in to place a gentle kiss on John's cheek"...but I didn't know....You've always known."

"And now?...."

"Now I know."


End file.
